


Scrumptious

by cannibalisticshadows



Series: Scute To Me [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Anthropomorphic Crocodile Rumplestiltskin, Come Eating, Dirty Thoughts, F/M, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Extremely Dubious Consent, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Masturbation, Non-Human Genitalia, References to Depression, Self-Harm, Sexual Fantasy, Stalking, violent imagery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-27 13:11:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12582640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cannibalisticshadows/pseuds/cannibalisticshadows
Summary: “...Distracted thoughtless by the scrumptious little female perched here in the spotlight like the most exquisite, delicious dish offered up by the gods. But I’m a gentleman, dearie. I can take my time...”----Crocodile Tears.~.~.~Or, what the library monster was doing before Belle discovered his existence.





	Scrumptious

**Author's Note:**

> Not edited :D

She looked good enough to eat.

Every damn night, five days a fucking week, she’d sit there, all pretty and proper, and _tap-tap-tap-DING!_ on that stupid blue typewriter of hers.

Blue like her eyes. Blue like the infuriating ribbons she tied up her hair with. Blue like the color of a victims’ skin if he strangled them.

He hadn’t ventured from the tunnels for quite some time. Spying on little Ms. Madam Mayor had been more important than swiping a good book from the library. Hence, he was a bit surprised that after two months of absence some ruddy-haired chit had sat her fine little arse in _his_ hideout and destroyed _his_ privacy. Who the hell did she think she was? Queen Fucking Elizabeth? He wondered how she'd look if he ran up to her and tore out her neck. Her blood would feel very warm against him, and he'd relish it against his cold flesh. It would be easy to snap her neck, scare her, and rip her into edible bits, paint the room in her entrails, and eat her until those ridiculous heels were the only things remaining. 

But he couldn’t. He shouldn't. For several reasons. One being that it would make one hell of a mess. And he’d already caused enough trouble—scaring the mayor’s boy at the beach last year had been bad enough. He knew it was risky to keep lurking out by the docks, so he crawled back to his tunnels and slept for… oh, who knew how long? It didn’t matter in the end. He was as good as dead anyway. If _they_ got their chains on him again, he'd either become crocodile soup or a sex slave.

The second reason was because she was _female_. Bloody fucking hell. He hadn’t had the pleasure of taking delight in a woman’s warmth for _years_ , and she looked and smelled as delicious as fresh offal. Even from his hiding spot, just meters away, he could smell the clean, fresh scent of her, and the warm, brilliant radiance of her life, her heart, her blood, her _flesh_. 

God, he wanted to sink his teeth into that. And, it would be so simple, too…

Yet it wasn’t. Nothing was ever so _simple_.

 _’C’mon, Goldie, dry up those crocodile tears and fuck me like the beast you really are...’_

He snarled in anger at the memory, grabbing a book off the shelf closest to him and biting into it rabidly. Fuck, he was horny and angry. Never a good combination on his part.

After leering at the poor, innocent, and blissfully unaware lass for a week or two, avoiding venturing out from the crawlspace if she kept the bigger lights on, he came to the conclusion that he wouldn’t kill her. She was young with life, the very opposite of this old hide of his, and it attracted him like a magnet—a forbidden fruit he could never have—not to even taste or touch. But _hell_ , he wanted it anyway. Wanted _her_. Wanted it _**bad**_.

“ _Fuk’n A,_ ” he growled, his voice raspy from a year of a silence. His loins were tingly with a long forgotten desire, and he dug his fangs into the book in his mouth harder, feeling the hardback break and give way to his teeth. The sound he was making did not go unnoticed, it seemed, and his object of desire froze like a deer in the highlight. She looked up, lamplight gleaming off those stupid reading glasses of hers, and staring directly at him—

Of course, she could not see him. 

“Cute thing,” he whispered, a utterance so quiet it didn’t leave his throat. 

He wanted to fuck her. That much was clear. And the more animalistic side of him, a side he favored more with each passing day, urged him to submit to his instincts. 

It would be simple to heed to those voices.

_’You’re an animal, Weaver. Fucking act like it…’_

The girl lost interest in trying to spot the source of the sounds, and turned back to her typewriter with a shake of her head, mumbling, “Silly, silly me,” to herself. Did she realize how bloody fucking adorable she was?

He imagined what he would do to her, if she fell into his mercy. Mercy was not something he would show her, however. 

He imagined creeping out of the shadows, on all fours, emerging from the black like a creature from hell, snarling and sniffing toward her hungrily. She would leap backwards and know over the chair, her fear-scents flooding the room like a gas bomb. It would urge him on, seeing her vulnerability. What would she do, he wondered, when he cornered her?

His right palm drifted downward to his waist, and he dropped to the floor like a bag of rocks. Lying his side, tail wagging back and forth on the ground, he drooled as he let his fantasy run wild. Loins tingled as he fingered his slit, feeling the head of his cock beginning to peek through.

The girl would mewl out pitifully as he approached her, surrendering easily to him like a wounded animal with no hope for survival. And he would leer and croon to her with bittersweet words. Her heartbeat would tattoo a beat to her sternum, her breast rising and falling with each rapid breath. He’d tell her nothing, just snarl in desire, and lean up on his legs. He’d grab her at the waist and throw her on the desk, hissing as she stuggled beneath him, begging for mercy.

Then he’d bite her skirts, rip and tug until the fabric tore like butter in his teeth. She’d cry, with tears, as her pale, lush, and squeezable flesh was revealed to him—like the tastiest milk. 

And he’d lap her up, starting with her neck, her face, her breasts, her shoulders, her belly, her back, her arse, her _cunt_ —

He salivated like a hot mutt. His cock was engorged and straining against his belly. The knot was swollen at the base to prevent it from being pushed back within its sheathe, throbbing with his lust. Pre-cum smeared his hand as he fucked his own fist, and he bit his own tongue to keep from groaning. 

And this little scrumptious chit would fucking like it, too. Being fucked by him. By a beast. He imagined she’d get wet like a puddle, with just him ripping her dress off. He’d call her a naughty lassie, because he’d get to rip off her soaked panties—he imagined a white cotton garment, innocent and for him to corrupt. It’d spur him on to slip into her dripping cunt. He’d hold her down by the hips as he fuck her from behind on that desk, dirtying it with their juices and claw marks, the sound of skin slapping scute filling the library. With her face red as a beat and drool trailing down her chin and bitten lips, the lass’d scream her little lungs out as he gave her orgasm after orgasm, begging for his monster co—

_’You are not a monster, Rabbie. Just a wee bit different.’_

He froze up like a buck. Cock in fist, panting like a dog, it took a single thought, a _single fucking thought_ to ruin his perfectly wonderfully fantasy.

With a choked up whine, he let go of his member, which was sticky and swollen still. His seed coated his hand like wet glue and dripped down onto the floor. The lovely dream began to diminish as his darker, gloomier thoughts began to override, them, filling his gut with more… human emotions.

The girl, of course, was oblivious to his sick behavior. She was still tapping away on her stupid little machine, occasionally pausing to stretch her fingers and mumble incoherently to herself. Not even her sweet, light scent calmed him. 

How fucking pathetic was he? Snarling, he leaned up on his right hip, tail limp and no longer wagging. Claws scrapped as he shuffled to his knees, sighing deeply as his cock still stood in attention. Though he suddenly hated himself with a passion, and wanted to take the pairing knife the librarians kept in their break room and cut his throat open, he grasped his cock again, and with a violent grip, masturbated until he shoot his seed on the floor in a long white ribbon. 

Fucking A.

_’You’re one ugly motherfucker...’_

_’Why can’t you do anything right…?’_

“Bugger off,” he cussed the voices, whipping away his mess. He was literally the most disgusting thing to crawl on this uncouth planet. The women he used to work with liked to remind him, during their romps. They said it would give him character to dismiss his vanity. He killed easier, when he did. Biting heads off wasn’t for sissies. 

And what would Papa _think_ —

He choked up again, as a new wave of self-hatred washed over him. He really was the most… sinful, despicable, revolting thing. 

_’Clean up our filth, Goldie,’_ some past, faceless lover hissed in his memories. _’Don’t tell your girlfriend, okayyy?’_

__With a soft whine, he bent over and lapped up his mess. Like a fucking mutt. He hated the taste of himself, on the floor, dirty and gross and filthy like the animal he was. His own seed dribbling off his front fangs, salty on his tongue, not unlike the salt of the sea. He licked his lips, quivering with the desire to not fuck, but to hurt. Not even thinking, he reached up and pinched a tooth in the back of his mouth. He tugged, violently, until it came loose and popped out of the socket with a splash of blood. The tooth dropped to the floor with a soft clatter. Blood mingled with his own semen, and he wanted nothing more than to kill himself. Thinking about fucking the cute girl in the lamplight made him horny. It made him hate himself._ _

__She was too beautiful to eat--to ruin. An angel in heaven, while he was the demon wallowing in his own darkness, ruining everything around him. A forbidden fruit he could never, _ever_ have. She was much too scrumptious for the likes of him._ _

__But may God have mercy on her if she ventured into his darkness. If that happened, he wasn’t sure if he could keep his filth to himself._ _

__She was too perfect for the likes of him._ _


End file.
